First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jackson

I t’s a dark drive home by the time I put the case files down. My job is my life but I had to fight the urge to come home all evening. I’ve never been so desperate to find out what I’m eating for dinner.

Even though it’s late, there’s an un-belonging car in my driveway and two silhouettes in the front doorway as I park my SUV. I recognize the car before I recognize the silhouette blocking Natalie’s.

This can’t be good.

“Whitney? What are you doing here?” I ask a little too defensively as I quickly approach the two women at the door. Decency would say I should invite her in but I never have and don’t plan to start now.

“I stopped by to ask you to an event but you weren’t here. I didn’t get a chance to bring it up when you came over the other night,” she croons, attempting to touch my arm as I pass by her. The blonde woman I’ve known for years suddenly looks like a stranger, as if I‘ve never truly seen her at all.

“I’m busy,” I respond dismissively to Whitney but my eyes stay on Natalie. She’s standing deathly still, watching the interaction but not saying anything. She looks like a ghost of herself.

“I didn’t even tell you when the event was.” She laughs, not seemingly put off.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be busy. Have a good night, Whitney.” I brush past her and into the house, hoping she gets the hint. I’m an asshole but I don’t care. I’m more worried about the only woman I’ve ever invited into my home than the one on the porch.

“I see. Bye, Jackson.”

I don’t turn to see her leave as I empty my pockets by the door. Once it’s clicked shut beside me, my breath comes a little easier.

“Dinner is in the microwave if you want to warm it up.” Natalie starts walking away and I grab her gently by the forearm.

“Wait.”

“Don’t!” She snaps at me. There she is.

“Talk to me,” I beg.

“Why?” She tugs her arm but I don’t let her escape an inch. I’m done allowing space between us.

“Whitney is no one.”

“It doesn’t matter who she is.” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks.

“It matters.”

“Why?” She still won’t look at me and it’s killing me.

“Because she means nothing to me,” I explain, my chest burning with dread. I like that she seems jealous, but not if it means we’ll go back to how things were before, with her shutting me out completely.

“Obviously. Since you went running to her arms after our fight the other night. Seems like something you would do with a nobody. While I waited here like an idiot for you to get home so I could apologize.” She scoffs and tries to shrug me off again but I pin her to the backside of the couch, caging her in and forcing her to look at me.

“That’s not what happened.” I plead with my eyes.

“Then what happened?” She does everything in her power to look away from me but I don’t let her.

“I went to see Mr. Wheeler the other night to make sure he knew he was fired. I threatened him within an inch of his life for hurting Dec. I could have killed him because I was so worked up from fighting with you. I knew I wasn’t ready to come home because I was so mad at you. I couldn’t think straight because I was so mad. I drove around for hours and only ended up at her house because it seemed easy. And it was. She let me in after not hearing from me for months. Before that, even longer between calls.”

“I don’t want to hear about this.” Her voice is breathy but undeniably sad.

“I don’t care. You need to listen to me for once in your life.”

She harrumphs but doesn’t say anything.

“Yes, she’s an old hookup but I haven’t had sex with her in almost a year. I didn’t have sex with her the other night even if she made you think that we did.”

Her pretty lashes blink rapidly and I know I hit the nail on the head. Whitney must’ve tried to stake a claim on me that she has no right to. “Doesn’t matter,” she mumbles weakly.

“It matters. The only reason that I ended up at her house is because I thought that easy would be good and it’d get you off of my mind. I only had to step through her front door to realize there was nothing that I wanted from her. She had nothing that I wanted because what I wanted was to come home to you.”

“Jackson,” she whispers my name, painfully. “Don’t.”

“Why? Why not? I can’t tell you how I feel?”

“No. Not when you shouldn’t feel that way. We argue all the time. Nothing between us is a good idea. You deserve someone perfect like her.”

“Is it because you’re seeing someone else?”

“What?” She finally looks at me with her normal, pissed-off face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ve ignored the fact that you’ve seen other people. Going on dates and staying with some guy when you left the hotel. You could still be seeing him, but I’m condemned because of Whitney?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’ve dropped too many weights on your head.” She pushes me off and stalks into the kitchen.

“Tell me that you don’t think about our night together. Tell me that it’s history and I’ll move on.”

She glances over her shoulder at me briefly but doesn’t say anything. Her brows are furrowed as if she’s contemplating her next words.

“Tell me that I’m no better than any of the other guys you’ve been seeing.”

She turns to look at me fully and her eyes are shooting flames. “Jesus, Jackson. I only ever talk about other guys to get under your skin. The customers that flirted with me at the coffee shack sucked. I only went to dinner with Ty because I was using him for a free meal.”

“And? You stayed with some random guy after leaving the hotel,” I include childishly.

“Dec and I stayed in an Air B&B for a few days, that’s all. Theodore was the owner’s name if you’re worried about it, he has gray hair, walks with a cane, and so kindly rents out his garage for cheap.” She rolls her eyes and grumbles to herself. “There is no one. Okay? I’m as alone as I’ve ever been. Drop it.”

“What about your shirts?” She’s changed since this morning, but the wildcat football t-shirt is engraved in my mind.

“What shirts?”

“The ones you were wear to bed. Or, you know, if you can even remember which guys they belong to.”

Her eyes zone out for a moment like she’s struggling to remember what I’m referring to then she sighs. The thing that has given me so much grief makes her sigh in annoyance.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I lived in New York. The shirts that I sleep in are thrifted. Most of my clothes are second-hand. Happy?”

Am I happy? Honestly, I’m fucking thrilled. All this time I’ve been cringing at the nightmarish thought of her with anyone else and it was all made up in my mind.

Before she can register it, I’m on her, scooping her up by her thighs and setting her on the kitchen counter. She lets out a squeak in midair but doesn’t fight me.

“You have no idea how happy I am.”

“Why?”

“Because, Natalie. I want you. So, desperately. I want to kiss you and touch you like I did when you gave me a taste the first time. I think about it every day, every night. Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about me.”

She looks away again, but I pull her chin back with my finger. My body is crowded between her thighs, she can’t go anywhere.

“Jackson, I can’t.”

I don’t know if she means that she can’t tell me what I want to hear or that she can’t do this, but I’m not letting her run from me.

“Why, sweetheart? Tell me why we should fight this?”

She makes that sweet noise. The one I’ve been dreaming about and I grasp her hips in my hands. I want her so bad. I always have.

“Tell me that you don’t hate me like you say you do.” I run my nose along her collarbone and up her neck until I feel her shiver. My fingers dig into her soft flesh harder, tugging her to my body tighter. “Tell me.”

Her hands thread through my hair and I sigh in relief until she uses it to pull my head back. “I can’t do this, Jackson. Please.” She pleads with watery eyes.

I’ll never take that word for granted. Please is her safe word whether she realizes it or not. I have to respect it.

What the hell have I done to this woman to make her cry so many times in so many days? Maybe I am a bigger asshole than I ever realized.

I pick her up by her hips and set her feet gently on the ground. As much as it pains me to, I step away.

She hates me and I have to accept it. The need that I feel is one-sided and it always will be.

She’s here for one purpose, to secure her future with Dec.

A heavy silence settles between us but I don’t want to wake up tomorrow with a canyon between us like before. Even if we always remain in neutral territory around each other.

I have to clear the thickness from my throat before I can speak. “It’s supposed to rain the next few days, do you think you could make me that soup again? The one you brought when you came here for the first time,” I utter my question, needing to leave this moment on good terms.

“I can make it on Wednesday since Dec will be at Charlie’s house.” Her voice is small and tight but relieved as if she’s grateful for the conversation shift.

“I thought Dec liked it.”

“No, he only likes soup if it has ramen in it,” she admits as I turn to leave the kitchen. It isn’t until I reach the hallway that her words register.

“You made that soup for me because you thought I wasn’t feeling good?” I ask, turning back to look at her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles almost too quietly to be heard.

“I think it is.”

I swear I see the breath catch in her chest before she turns her back to me but I walk away anyway.

I’ll give her the space she needs for now but I’m holding onto that little thread of hope with all my might.